


come and find me in the valley

by joshuamericano



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dreams, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Platonic Relationships, heavy handed projection, listen his backstory is about to be animated and i feel a lot of feelings about it, no plot just vibes, sad hours, the mortifying ordeal of being known by kita shinsuke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27525499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshuamericano/pseuds/joshuamericano
Summary: And you see him. And you keep seeing him, and you keep seeing him. At this point, his presence is comfortable. Sitting next to him, lamenting about your day-to-day frustrations, knowing that he’s going to be there. There’s routine instilled into you both. It’s like folding laundry or brushing your teeth.Effortless. Like it’s nothing.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 67





	come and find me in the valley

**Author's Note:**

> *has a folder of over 20 wips i could work on* *does not touch any of them, writes this instead*
> 
> also, big thank you to steph, who convinced me to finish this.

In your dreams, you can’t fly. 

You should be able to, you think. It’s a dream world, after all, where you can do anything just at the thought of it. Not that your dreams are kind to you. You wish they were like your friends’ dreams, magical chance encounters with mysterious lovers and the occasional famous person. Your dreams are chock full of unsightly monsters, unpleasant childhood experiences that you swore didn’t go that way, people you wish you never had to see again. 

But this one dream. You keep having this dream, and you wonder if it means anything, if it contributes to some greater purpose of yours. In the dream, you’re alone, standing in an open plain of grass and wildflowers, trees in the far distance. The sky is blue and cloudless and unending. 

You see some birds overhead flying in a _V_ formation. You want to join them, to see what the world is like from that high up. There’s something on your back that adds pressure, weighs your body down a little. 

It’s a dream, you think. _These are my wings, and with them, I should fly._

You’ve done everything you can think of. Getting a charging head start, bolting across the grass and jumping with all your might, only to tumble and hit the ground. Focusing _really hard_ on flying, the way magicians and witches in movies can perform dazzling magical feats if they can just concentrate hard enough. Thinking of nothing at all, and letting your weightlessness lift you up. 

It doesn’t work. You’re still standing in the plain, like you always have been. 

You stare up at the sky. The birds. The bright, unforgiving sun. 

* * *

“What’d you get on your exam?” 

Shinsuke peeks over your shoulder during class break, and it makes you jump in your seat. He moves so quickly and quietly, almost like a shadow. It freaks you out a little. 

You stare at the paper you’ve been handed back, like you’re looking for an answer other than what’s already there. “I got an eighty-six.” You say.

“I see.” He nods, then leaves, probably to get a snack or something. His non-response makes your heart pound. Kita Shinsuke, an unassuming agricultural studies major, with whom you share two college classes, doesn’t do much talking, but his presence bears weight. It’s loud, fuzzy, oppressive, like deep bass in your ears. Vibrating in your chest. 

You grit your teeth when you see him, hear him speak, walk past him in the hall. He hasn’t done anything for you to resent him, and that’s what bothers you. Shinsuke seems incapable of doing literally _anything_ wrong. He turns in his homework on time, shares the correct answers and most thoughtful insights when he participates, does the extra credit work that literally no one else does. And he does it all like one would fold laundry or brush their teeth. 

Like it’s nothing. Completely and totally effortless. 

It’s kind of infuriating.

* * *

Your formal introduction to Shinsuke is under the least ideal circumstance.

You’ve lost your phone on campus, and you’ve been searching to find it for at least an hour at this point. You’ve climbed the stairs countless times, looked on every floor, traced your steps back to any rooms you remember visiting that day. No luck. 

You decide you need to sit down because you’re tired as hell, and you can go looking for it later. You go to the cafeteria, where you hope to stare at a blank wall for a while and think of nothing. But you’ve forgotten that it’s dinner time, that every table is full except for one, where a few guys are sitting.

A few guys, and Shinsuke. The only seat open is next to him.

You let out a heavy sigh, mentally prepare yourself to feel judged when you walk over and yank out the chair, its metal screeching against the ground. 

Shinsuke’s eyes are large, watchful, as you slump in your seat. You can feel the soreness in your legs and feet, your exhaustion, when you sit down. If only you didn’t have to walk so much to get anywhere on this damn campus. 

“Is something wrong?” Shinsuke asks. You’ve pushed past your capacity to speak or think for the day, so it takes you a minute to muster up a response without a jumbled delivery. 

“I lost my phone.” You tell him. “And I’ve spent a long time looking for it. But I’ll just give up for now.”

“Well, I could help you.” He takes his phone out of his pocket. “If you show me where you might have left it, I could call your phone, and we could look for it that way.”

You want to kick yourself, because it occurs to you how much quicker you could have found your phone by now if you’d just asked literally anyone to do what he’s offering. But you’re here, and Shinsuke’s offering. He tilts his head towards you, waiting for your answer. 

You take a deep breath. “Yeah. We can do that.” 

You wait until he’s finished eating, which takes so damn long and you’re impatient and kind of scared that your phone is gone forever, but you don’t want to rush him or say anything. When you get up again, your whole body so _tired_ , Shinsuke puts a hand on your shoulder and says simply, “We’ll find it.”

Going to the last place your phone _might_ have been, an empty classroom on the next floor up where you had class not long ago, requires a long walk and climbing a flight of stairs. You’re trying not to think of how sore you’re going to be tomorrow when you wake up as you walk alongside Shinsuke. You’ve given him your number to call, and his eyes scan the halls, the other rooms, checking his phone. 

You don’t know him that well, you think, and you wonder if you’ve made a bad decision by giving him your number. You shake the thought out of your head and figure he’ll forget about it, that you’ll interact just this once and then be vaguely acquainted classmates again. 

But you can’t help but steal glances at him every so often. For someone so expressionless and resilient, in this circumstance, under these harsh, flickering fluorescent lights, he seems...delicate. Human, for once. 

You curse yourself when you hear your phone ring in that exact empty classroom, where you swore you’d searched every corner. Walking back to your dorm tonight is going to be both a literal and figurative pain in the ass. 

“Thanks for helping.” You say, too tired to speak, but trying anyways.

“No problem.” He says, his expression neutral as always. “Glad I could help.” 

He maintains eye contact for a while, a little longer than a person should, you think, before he leaves. 

* * *

In your dorm that evening, you’re sitting in bed, pain screaming in your thighs and the soles of your feet from all the walking. Your phone vibrates, receiving a text. 

Shinsuke texted you. He writes in perfect punctuation, all capitalized words where they’d need to be capitalized, like he’s writing an essay. 

_Were you okay earlier? You looked like you needed a cup of tea and a nap._

Your chest flutters. You try to snuff out the sensation, send him a quick text back. 

_im okay. i just spent a long time looking for my phone and wore myself out_

And another. 

_thanks again. i appreciated your help a lot_

The shortest possible sentence of gratitude, and you want to throw your damn phone across the room. You put it on your nightstand and bury your head in the blankets, simulating sleep. 

Your phone buzzes again. You try to ignore it—as if there’s a reason to—but it does that thing where it keeps buzzing and buzzing, and it’ll keep doing that until you pick it up and check it. Once it annoys you enough, you pick it up and open it again. 

_You’re welcome._ He replies, followed by one of those unsettling smiley emojis that he probably means sincerely and not passive-aggressively. _I’m happy to help you anytime. I hope you’re resting well now._

Reading his words makes you want to explode. You don’t know why.

* * *

“Shinsuke, do you believe in dream interpretation?” 

You whisper it to him when you’re supposed to be studying together in the library. He comes here a lot, apparently. You like the idea of libraries, but the amount of books is overwhelming, and even with everyone going about their business, you feel watched. Scrutinized. 

“No.” Shinsuke clicks his pen, underlines a sentence in his notes. “I don’t think it means anything.” 

His notes are, surprise, neat and organized, with highlighter marks framing his sentences in bright neon colors. His handwriting is _immaculate_. You want to take notes like that, but jotting things down mid-class and keeping up with the teacher’s lecture at the same time overwhelms you, so it all becomes barely legible scribbles and lots of flower doodles. 

“Do you believe in it?” Shinsuke says. He’s still looking at his notes. 

You feel sheepish now. It’s not that you believe in dream interpretation, but you _did_ start Googling it more often because of the wings dream. You _are_ keeping a dream journal, which is more like writing down every time you’ve had the same dream in the notes app on your phone. It’s for nothing, you think, as if that stops you. 

There’s a chance it means something. You don’t want to miss it. 

“Not really.” You say. “I just have weird dreams sometimes.” 

“Do they bother you?”

“Hm?” 

“Your dreams.” He looks up from his paper, gives you a _look_. “Do they bother you?”

God, he looks so _sincere_ about this, you wish you hadn’t said anything. It’s like trying to give someone evidence of a nonexistent monster because you saw weird shadows on the wall. 

“I have this one recurring dream.” You tell him, at the risk that you’re going to become That Person who talks about their crazy dreams. “I keep trying to fly, but I can’t.” 

“Where are you going?”

“Where am I _what_?” 

“When something or someone’s flying, they have a destination in mind.” Shinsuke shrugs. You’re shocked at his utmost seriousness. “So, in your dream, where are you going?” 

He rests his chin on his hand, still looking at you. 

You’ve never thought about it, but now that you have, there’s never _been_ a destination. An ending point. Just sheer frustration from the inability to start. 

“I don’t know.” 

* * *

Over time, getting to know Shinsuke is like peeking through a cracked door. 

You’re not going to fully open the door and step right through. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But you arrive early to breakfast at the cafeteria one day and see him, sitting alone— _It’s six thirty in the morning, how are you here?_ You say—eyes a little bleary, but still attentive and glowing. He’s drinking something hot from a thermos, and you watch wisps of steam leave the top, dancing in the morning light, after he drinks from it. Sitting next to him in his solitary quiet feels invasive, but he notices you and slides to the right a bit. Invites you over. 

And you see him. 

He asks to walk you back to your dorm after your classes one evening, then the next evening, then the next. Shinsuke’s a nice walking companion, great with directions, but his ubiquity in your life takes a while for you to adjust to. 

“I just don’t think walking home alone is practical.” He says. “It could be dangerous.” 

You shrug. “I’ve done it plenty of times.”

“But you don’t have to.” He holds his arm out, ready to link it with yours. Helps you both not to get lost. “Not anymore, anyways.” 

You link arms and talk about World History homework on your walk. And you see him. 

One day, you decide you’re gonna turn the tables and offer to walk _him_ back to _his_ dorm, see how he likes it. 

Shinsuke tilts his head at you. “Are you just trying to avoid finishing your assignment that’s due tomorrow?” 

You press your lips together. Two months, and he already knows too much about you to his advantage. “This isn’t about that. C’mon, let me walk _you_ to _your_ place.” 

“Okay.” He says. “You can visit for a while, if you want.” 

“It would be an honor.” 

At his dorm, you have to go through his other roommates’ spaces, their beds messy, clothes everywhere, unwashed dishes teetering on unstable surfaces. Shinsuke’s room is the complete opposite of that. For such a compact room, its white walls and empty cleanliness make it feel open. The hardwood floor is shiny, his bed is perfectly made, and a small pile of clothes is neatly folded and sitting on his bed. He puts the clothes away before sitting on the edge of his bed, letting you sit at his desk. Sunset light pours in from his small window. 

“Geez, it’s getting colder these days,” Shinsuke says, pulling a cardigan out of his closet. He wraps it around his shoulders but doesn’t put his arms through the sleeves. 

“You’re not gonna put it on?” You say.

For the first time you’ve ever seen, he grimaces, lips pressed in a flat line. “But then it gets crackly. Like, when you take it on and off, how it crackles.”

You realize he’s talking about static, and you’re trying your hardest not to laugh. 

And you see him. And you keep seeing him, and you keep seeing him. At this point, his presence is comfortable. Sitting next to him, lamenting about your day-to-day frustrations, knowing that he’s going to be there. There’s routine instilled into you both. It’s like folding laundry or brushing your teeth.

Effortless. Like it’s nothing. 

* * *

You want to throw your phone across your room again. Were most of your possessions not valuable and difficult to replace, you’d throw those, too. 

You just got off the phone with your parents, and good God, it stressed you out. Your mom asked about your midterm grades, how you’re doing in college these days, are you paying attention in your classes? The temptation to hang up mid-sentence consumed you, but you did not give. You wish you had. 

“I’m doing fine.” You tell her. “I had a late start to some of the assignments, but I turned them in, and I know what to improve next time.”

“You could have started earlier.” She says. “Then you’re not down to the wire trying to finish them.” 

She’s right. You know that. But you always could have done better, right? You could reach most of the way there, but if you really got on your tiptoes, if you _really_ strained to reach this intangible _enough_ , you could touch it. 

It’s like doing math homework with your mom sitting beside you, saying _You know all of this, you’re a smart kid, why don’t you have an answer?_

 _I’m trying,_ you said, on the brink of tears.

 _I’m trying, and I’m trying, and I’m trying._ Fists balled up tight, slamming against invisible wooden walls but not making a dent in them. Just hollow, empty sounds. Shrill screams heard by no one.

It’s useless, all of this trying. 

* * *

“You should take a break.” 

You look up from your textbook to Shinsuke, who’s sitting across from you at the library table. You’ve sat here for two hours now, trying to turn out words and answers and anything that could make sense, but nothing leaves your fingertips. A break sounds too easy. This needs to be _done_ , finished, out of your damn way. 

“I can take a break later.” You tell him. He’s starting to irritate you again. 

“You haven’t done anything in the last half hour.” He checks the library clock, like he’s confirming his time estimate. “You’re not gonna be any more done the longer you sit there and stare at blank paper.”

You bite your teeth, molars making your tongue sting. Oh, how badly you want to curse at him. Just once. You won’t, though. 

“Sure.” You slam your textbook shut and shove everything into your backpack. “What do I do now?” 

“There’s a park we could go to,” he says. “It’s not too far from here. We could walk there together.”

 _Not too far_ is a broad term for Shinsuke, who’s probably content walking an entire marathon’s length in a day. You still join him, fully knowing you’re going to be out of breath by the time you reach whatever park he’s talking about. You link arms the whole way there, like always, and he talks your ear off about _I don’t get why everyone’s nervous about tests when they’re just like doing any other kind of work_ , like always. It’s your routine now. 

The grass is wilting, not as vibrant as it was in summer months, but there’s a pond in the park’s center with a small family of ducks coasting along in it. Kita digs around in his school bag and takes out a bag of grapes. “For the ducks,” he says, before kneeling on the ground and taking one out to give to the mama duck. You’re content just watching him grin to himself, opening his soft palm for the ducks to peck into, framing such a picturesque moment in your mind. 

Shinsuke turns to you, places his fist in your hand, opens it. A few cold, damp grapes slide into your hand, giving you a bit of a chill. You tighten your jacket around you, and then you feed the ducks too. 

The two of you sit in complete stillness, nothing but sound of the gentle, chilling wind and ducks quacking. You will have to return to the dorm, accept how much work you have piling up, how many people you should get in touch with again, everything you should do. But right now is the most peaceful you’ve felt in ages. 

Shinsuke nudges your knee with the back of his hand. “Can I rest my head on your lap?” He says. You nod, silent approval, and readjust yourself so he can comfortably lay his head down. Before you can figure out what to do with your hands, Shinsuke takes your right hand with both of his hands, pulls it in and presses it between his chin and his chest. 

You hope your hand isn’t too clammy. You haven’t experienced this kind of closeness with another person in...Well, come to think of it, you never _have_. You look down at him, and he’s closed his eyes, his eyelashes thick and dark and wispy, skin so soft-looking. Part of you is tempted to feel for more, to play with his hair a little or touch his cheek. But you don’t want to disturb this peace. 

“You know, I’m glad I met you.” 

It comes out of Shinsuke so promptly, so straightforward, it makes your abdomen tense up. Receiving compliments doesn’t get more comfortable the older you get, it seems. It’s still as awkward and cumbersome as it’s always been for you. Like he’s given you something heavy to carry. 

“I’m…” You’re frustrated at how much effort it takes to say it back, “I’m glad I met you too.”

Shinsuke glances at you. “You seem unhappy these days.” 

You let out a sigh, deep from the bottom of your lungs. “I’m going home for fall break before finals, but I don’t want to.” 

“Then don’t go.” 

“But my family’s expecting me there.” You hate to complain just moments after such a pleasant exchange, like you’re tarnishing the atmosphere with your dark storm clouds. “I can get through it. I’m just not looking forward to it.”

“You don’t have to just get through it.” He says bluntly. 

“It’s fine.” You assure him. “It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve had to go to something I didn’t want to.” 

Shinsuke shifts in your lap, making himself more comfortable. “Suffering through something you dread isn’t the admirable deed you think it is.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You can’t talk.

“You can call me if things are rough at home.” He closes his eyes again. 

“Thanks.” 

“I care about you, you know.” 

“I know.” 

“Then what are you afraid of?” 

You don’t answer.

* * *

You’re awake at one in the morning, halfway through school break. You shouldn’t be awake, and it’s going to ruin your sleep schedule, but here you are. 

A dreadful, sinking feeling had settled itself into your body, rushing into every corner of your brain. Painful jabs make your chest hurt. Your hands tingle, your stomach’s in twists and knots, all the oxygen is sucked out of your throat. This is no fleeting feeling that self-reassurance could fix. This is a slow climb from hell, dry scraped hands, grasping for stability. 

The timing of this irritates you—couldn’t you have this kind of visceral full-body response in your waking hours, at least?—but spite for the physical burdens you can’t help doesn’t get rid of it either. You don’t want to wake up either of your parents. You’re left to your own devices, trying to find something to busy yourself until this rush of misery leaves your body. 

You think about calling Shinsuke.

There’s no way he’d be awake. He has a strict sleep schedule, and it’d be rude of you to interrupt. Besides, who knows how helpful he’d be, Mr. I Don’t Know Why People Get Nervous Before Tests. 

But his words. You remember them

_What are you afraid of?_

They ring in your head. You grab your phone. _I’m not afraid_. 

It occurs to you that you could wake up his whole family if you just call out of the blue, so you text him first, see if he’s awake in the first place. You expect no response, rack your brain for ways you could get this pain over with—

A response, moments later. He tells you that you can call if you need to. 

Shinsuke picks up the phone within the first few rings. “Hello?”

“Hi,” you try to whisper. 

“Hey there.” 

“What are you doing awake?” 

Shinsuke pauses to yawn. “My little brother wanted to stay up longer. It’s just taking me a while to wind down.”

Your breathing is so loud, you’re self-conscious about it. 

“How are you feeling?” He says. 

“Not great.” You say. “Bad, actually. Really bad.” 

“Tell me about it, then.”

And you tell him everything. The week that’s been a blur of rushing to finish assignments, being asked by your family and your family friends and your friends’ families what you’re gonna do with your future, when will you bring someone home, what are you _doing_ these days? You’ve been shoving yourself into the mold of a person you used to be, back in high school, bright and shiny and smooth around the edges. It’s such a tight squeeze, fitting yourself into a personality you’ve outgrown. 

Expectation is a rope around your ankle. The fence you’re tied to. 

You cut yourself off mid-sentence. “I sound dumb, don’t I? There’s worse things I could be worrying about.”

“There are.” He says. “But that won’t make your problems go away.” 

“I know.” You realize you’ve been clenching your jaw the whole time you’ve been talking. You relax it as much as you can in such a tense, tightly wound body. “I guess I just thought little shit like this wouldn’t bother me as much.” 

“That’s not really something you can help.” Shinsuke says. 

“I—” You pause, trying not to say _I know_ a million times. “I just want to be someone better than I am. Someone that everyone could be proud of, and that—that everyone could see is a great person. I feel like I just try, and I—” a sob catches in your throat, “—and I try, and I try, and it’s never enough. I don’t think it’ll ever be enough.” 

There’s a long, long pause. You think he might have hung up on you. You wouldn’t blame him; you’re already tired of the sound of your own voice. For a while, all you hear is your own crying echoing over the receiver. 

“Are you still there?” Shinsuke finally says, his voice so soft. 

“Yeah.” You sniffle. Feel bad for making him listen to all this.

“Do you wanna talk about something else for a little while?” He says. “Get your mind off of it?”

“Yeah.” 

He tells you about his break. He’s not excited about the college workload he has to do, but he likes watching television with his grandma and his sister at night, because they watch old shows from before he was born and they’re so different from shows now. He tells you he likes the old shows better. And his little brother wants to play volleyball in the backyard before everything freezes over, so they play a bit in the afternoons.

“Oh, yeah.” You say. “You played volleyball in high school, didn’t you?” You’ve heard about his high school team in passing, but other than him keeping in touch with his teammates, he said little else of it.

“Mhm.” He says. “Mostly in my third year. I was the captain. But I didn’t play much before then.” 

The _captain_? He never said anything about that. “And that never frustrated you?”

“Not really. I kinda liked taking care of things off court. It felt good.” He pauses. “If nothing, I was happy with my work, even if no one else was.” 

Your body is slowly releasing its tension, unwinding. You realize it’s not as hard to breathe when you listen to him talk. 

“But,” he says, “it also felt good when someone _did_ recognize me. A lot better than I thought it would. I get why people want to feel that way all the time.” 

You lie on your side in bed, starting to doze off. 

“I’m feeling a little better.” You say. “I think I’m gonna go to sleep now.” 

“That’s a good idea.” He sighs. “I should be asleep too. I’ll see you when we return to school, then.” 

“Yeah. Thanks for letting me talk to you.” 

“Of course.” You can hear his smile over the phone. 

* * *

The dream returns. 

At first, it’s the same as always. You yearn for the sky, to get your feet off the ground and lift yourself into the air, but nothing works. Your wings don’t flap. You start to believe that these are useless wings. 

Then, another thought. You’ve never looked back and seen how your wings looked. They just _felt_ the way you presumed wings would feel if humans had them and kept trying to take flight. So you take a look behind you as best as you can. 

There are no wings. Instead, there’s arms draped off your shoulders. A torso pressed against your back. Legs clinging to your sides. A head nestled into the back of your neck. A whole person that you carry on your back. 

It’s you. It’s you, and you’re crying. 

You can’t see the tears well, but you can hear, _feel_ , the sobs. The forced, wheezing inhales, the hiccupy coughs in between. You’re forced to be an outside witness to your emotions in a way you’ve never been.

 _How dare you,_ you think. 

_How dare you break my heart like this_. 

And this whole time, you were trying to run. To take off. 

You sit on the ground and cross your legs. You listen to your separated self’s every cry, feel every teardrop drip down the skin of your shoulder blade. 

This field and this sky, it’s so boundless and overwhelming. You want to grow bigger, expand with it. But its unseen edges don’t have to intimidate you. You don’t ever have to touch them. 

You can be small. You can be held. There’s plenty of room for you. 

You stay seated in the grass until the dream ends.


End file.
